


you’re my cup of tea

by MarzgaPerez



Series: Mickey and Monkey [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Family Fluff, M/M, Other, Past Abuse, Soft Mickey Milkovich, Tea Parties, Uncle!Mickey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:28:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22592542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarzgaPerez/pseuds/MarzgaPerez
Summary: Mickey is fully integrated into the Gallagher household, and it’s his day to watch Franny.Post S10
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Mickey Milkovich & Franny Gallagher
Series: Mickey and Monkey [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1624345
Comments: 19
Kudos: 346





	you’re my cup of tea

It was Mickey’s day off, which meant making sure everything flowed at the house. He was also on Monkey duty, and that was fine by him; Mickey knew that Franny preferred him as a caregiver. His brazen, blunt demeanor made her laugh, and he was relaxed around her, knowing he could be himself—well, a more playful version of himself. 

Weekday mornings were usually hectic with Mickey or Ian getting up before everyone else to make breakfast. This particular morning, Mickey was the one doling out heaping portions of scrambled eggs and bacon to all the Gallaghers, telling Carl to keep his fucking hands clean on garbage duty (ha ha). Ian was the next one out the door, and Mickey gave him a goodbye kiss and a slight squeeze on his ass for good luck. Mickey’s next activity was driving Liam to school with Franny in tow. 

Afterwards, they stopped by the corner store for some smokes and cookie dough. Mickey had promised Franny they could serve cookies at their afternoon tea party. Once home, it was time to veg out in front of the TV and watch cartoons. Only the classics, decided Mickey, like _Bugs Bunny_ and _Tom & Jerry_, though Franny usually talked him into some shit called _PJ Mask_.

After about an hour, he got up from the couch to clear the breakfast dishes from the table and throw a load of clothes into the washing machine. _Ah, domestic life—_ boring as fuck but shit needed to get done. At least Monkey would help him later with folding the clothes, and she knew where to put everyone’s shit.

Mickey could only imagine what it was like a few years ago when Fiona was in charge, and the house held twice as many people. Things seemed more manageable now, and thank fuck Frank wasn’t around with his tendency to make any space around him disgusting as fuck.

Since it was a sunny day, Mickey called out to Franny and told her to put her coat on so they could go for a walk. There was a fancy-shmancy dog park a few blocks away from the house, thanks to all of the relocated hipsters in the neighborhood, and Franny enjoyed hanging out with the different dogs since she couldn’t have one of her own. _Yet_.

Debbie had promised her daughter when she returned from her “job” (that seemed to be the easiest explanation), she would buy Franny a puppy. Mickey figured it gave them something to talk about during their daily phone calls, a nice distraction for them both. Debbie didn’t want Franny to know she was in jail, and she’d had many tearful conversations with both Ian and Mickey about it. They’d tried to talk her into letting Franny come for a visit, promising to keep things light and upbeat, but Debbie wanted to at least wait until her trial or plea bargain, whichever came first, hoping she’d be back home before Franny had to ever see her in that sad beige uniform.

With the sudden change in Franny’s life, her pediatrician had suggested setting up as much routine as possible and sticking with it. Debbie had asked Ian and Mickey to enroll her in preschool and told them to use some of the Derek money to pay for it. They’d gotten Franny on the waiting list at a couple of places. In the meantime, she was being cared for by her uncles and Tami, and was doing well, under the circumstances.

After their visit at the dog park, it was lunchtime, and Mickey made Franny’s favorite grilled cheese sandwich with carrot sticks on the side. Then it was onto baking the cookies and preparing the tea, a mixture of apple juice and honey that Mickey let simmer in a kettle on the stove while Franny set a place for each of their “guests” at the kitchen table. 

As Mickey took the cookies out of the oven to cool off, Franny finished decorating the place cards. There would be a card for each of them, one for Mr. Bunny, one for a doll she’d named Ginger, and one placed in front of a seat left vacant for “Mommy.”

“What’s the theme for today?” he asked her. 

“Rainbows,” Franny answered brightly, pausing to tuck a wisp of hair behind her ear. And that’s when Mickey noticed Franny had written something on her fingers.

“Yo, Monkey...what’s that on your hand?”

She continued coloring and answered matter-of-factly, “Alphabet letters. Like yours.”

They’d all been trying to teach Franny how to say her ABC’s, but it was news to Mickey she could write the letters. He walked over to the table for a closer look, caught somewhere in between amusement and ern that she might have actually scrawled F-U-C-K over her fingers. 

Much to his relief, she’d only managed the “F,” and her other fingers had more distorted versions of each letter. Mickey patted her hands. “It’s cute, kid. Just like mine. But we’ll have to wash that off later.”

“Okay.” She smiled up at him with a certain glimmer in her eyes that let him know she would _consider_ washing the ink off, but she was not making any promises.

Mickey set the plate of still-warm sugar cookies on the table, along with the pink ceramic tea pot he’d filled with the tea mixture. Franny’s tea set was adult-sized, painted with delicate flowers and chipped in a few places but still functional. It had been purchased from Goodwill several months ago for a couple of bucks. And nothing made her happier than holding her filled-to-the-brim cup, tiny pinky finger extended outward, just like the YouTube videos she’d seen.

“Want the crown today, Uncle Mickey?” she asked sweetly, holding up a pink diamond studded tiara just like hers. “Ginger wore it last time.”

_Fuck_. The tiara. He’d do anything to make the kid smile—piggy back rides, goofy cartoon voices—but the thought of wearing that damn tiara made him balk, thanks to an incident with Terry, back when Mickey was about Franny’s age.

He and Mandy had been goofing around in the living room. She’d fastened a sheet around him like a cape and placed a plastic tiara on his head that she’d found at the park. They were having a good laugh about the whole thing, along with their mother, pretending Mickey was Miss America or some shit. He remembered thinking they should stop, that his father would flip the fuck out, but no one figured he’d be home early on a Saturday night, not when he had a standing poker game.

Unfortunately, the piece of shit had gotten into a fight with another player, and they’d kicked him out of the game. He’d stumbled home, drunk and pissed off, and looking for someone to take his anger out on. Mickey remembered how everyone tried to stand in Terry’s way as he went for his youngest son, fists swinging wildly, first at his mother, his older brothers, and even Mandy. But he’d saved enough rage to give Mickey a beating he’d never forget. The words he’d spat at all of them, but especially Mickey, were all hate-filled slurs of disgust for fags and homos. He’d heard Terry say those things his whole life but never directed _at_ him. For many years, Mickey blamed himself for what happened that day—he should have known better.

Franny had grown quiet, sensing Mickey’s hesitation. “You don’t have to,” she finally said. “I’ll put it on Mr. Bunny.”

“Gimme the thing, kid.” Mickey swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat and winked at Franny. “Gotta be proper for tea, right?”

_Fuck Terry Milkovich anyway. That sorry bastard could have written the book on how not to raise children. _

Franny squeezed the back of his hand gently as he situated the curved piece of plastic atop his head. 

“You’re King Mickey, now.”

“Damn right,” he replied, and per their usual routine, Franny served the cookies while Mickey poured tea in everyone’s cups.

They chatted amongst themselves, including the other guests in their conversation, Franny asking about everyone’s day and if they’d found the weather pleasing, mimicking the British accents from her other favorite cartoon, _Peppa Pig_ , and giggling when Mickey did the same.

Neither of them noticed when Ian entered the kitchen, still in his work uniform, holding his phone up.

“Uncle Ian!” Franny called out excitedly, the first to spot him, and Mickey whipped around to catch his devious husband taking pictures of their tea party.

“Fucker!” Mickey yelled. “Put that away! We don’t need the damn paparazzi in our business.”

“Fine.” Ian rolled his eyes but complied, tucking his phone into his pocket. “Was just gonna send a picture to _Ebbie-Day_.” Then he added, “Language, Mick.”

“Franny don’t fuckin’ care. We got an understanding. Right, Monkey?”

She nodded. “Only grown-ups can say grown-up words.”

In the short time he’d known her, Mickey had already deduced Franny had the purest moral compass of any four year old he’d ever met. Debbie deserved a lot of credit for that—it was definitely not the norm for their gene pool.

“Uh-huh. And her hands?” Ian asked, walking over to Franny for a closer look.

“It’s washable ink. Calm the fuck down,” Mickey gruffed. “Better yet. C’mere, Gallagher.” 

Ian shook his head disapprovingly but leaned down to meet Mickey’s lips. He proceeded to grab a cookie from the plate on the center of the table and take the empty seat next to him.

“No!” Mickey and Franny shouted at the same time. 

Ian froze in place, eyes darting back and forth between them, waiting for an explanation. 

“That’s Mommy’s seat,” explained Franny. “You can take Ginger’s place.” She moved the doll onto her lap and pointed towards the seat for Ian.

“Fitting,” quipped Mickey.

“Okay...thanks,” Ian managed, looking like he’d just stepped into an episode of the _Twilight Zone._ He took a sip of the lukewarm concoction in front of him and made a face. “Mmm...delicious...tea?”

“Our special tea.” Mickey snickered. “Don’t worry, Uncle Ian. You’ll get the hang of this eventually. Just gotta work on your British accent...”

_And next time, it’ll be your turn with the tiara,_ thought Mickey, returning the smile from his gorgeous husband and partner in this crazy Gallagher circus.


End file.
